Because of Scarsdale
by wryter81
Summary: Fictional interpretation of Mark’s line “I know a place—a clinic.” Set right after Angel’s funeral, but mainly a preRent flashback. Reviews are welcome and appreciated!


"I've got to fly…"

And with that, Roger was gone. I remained behind to comfort Mimi, who was looking weaker and weaker. I wasn't lying to Roger about that...hell, even Benny was concerned for her health. I knew I had to do something, so I said to them "I know a place—a clinic."

"A rehab?" Benny emphasized the question, and I nodded. He looked at me with a slight frown. Why should **I** know a place? I'm not sick.

And I'm not. I know that for a fact…

It all goes back to Scarsdale. The way I live now, the life I lead—I still can't escape Scarsdale, and I know I never will. Not because my parents still live there or anything…just because it's me.

Living in the City, you get tough. Maybe you're afraid, but you learn to curtail those fears and portray a solid exterior. You can't survive, otherwise.

It's not like that back home, in Scarsdale. There, I never had to worry about money for rent, or food, or camera equipment. When I made the choice to move to the City, I had some worries, of course, but I faked it. I went with instinct, stifled any fears inside me about how the subway might crash, or what the hell am I eating, or does that guy have a gun, or who the hell did Roger just bring home this time? I became a true New Yorker, at least in my opinion.

And then Roger got sick. But Roger didn't just get sick—no, he got sick and his girlfriend committed hara kiri in our bathroom.

Needless to say, it was a stressful couple of weeks.

But a month later, when everything calmed down again, I finally had time to process the information that April was dead and Roger was sick. And then I worried.

I knew I couldn't get AIDS from Roger. I knew enough about AIDS to know the ways you could and couldn't get it. But late at night, the seed of doubt was there. And watching Roger day after day only cultivated it into a weed that wrapped around my mind until I couldn't think straight.

So I hopped a train and headed to Scarsdale.

I knew I needed to do it. I needed to get tested and calm myself down, once and for all. But I couldn't go anywhere here, because I couldn't let Roger or Maureen or even Collins find out. They'd never understand. I'm not one of those backwards fools who thinks AIDS is the gay cancer and that you can get it from breathing the same air. I'm not like that—of course I'm not like that!

I just need to know…

A few hours later, I was sitting in a room at a clinic outside of Scarsdale. Normally, I'd worry this would somehow get back to my parents, but I oddly felt they'd understand. I mean, of course they would. Didn't suburbia still believe you could catch this like the flu?

The door opened and I came to. A smiling nurse about my mom's age walked in, rolled up my sleeve and banded my arm.

"Do you have any reason to suspect you're HIV positive?" she asked.

"No...I mean, maybe," I stuttered. "My…my roommate, he just found out he's positive."

Her face turned sympathetic. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

Maybe it was the blood loss or the pressure of the worries of the past month that got to me. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, I let it all come rushing out.

"I know I don't have any reason to worry! I didn't fuck him or his girlfriend or use their needles—I don't even use needles or drugs! But, we **live** together, and I don't remember everything that's ever happened. I used his razor once—what if I cut myself and he had cut himself right before? What if he did the same thing with mine? My girlfriend—I know she cheats on me—what if **she** slept with him and they weren't careful!" I was reaching hysteria. I wanted to compose myself, but I had lost control. Instead I sat there—a twenty-something year old straight, drug-free man in his boxers in a clinic outside of Scarsdale, nearly hyperventilating while a nurse drew blood to test for AIDS. What was my world coming to?

The nurse removed the needle and put her hand on my trembling shoulder. "It's ok, sweetie," she said softly. She really did remind me of mom. "It's a scary time. Even though you know the facts, it can still be scary when someone you care about gets sick with HIV."

I sighed. "I thought I was better than this."

She smiled at me. "You can never predict actions in a time of crisis. And you're smart—you're doing what people need to be doing right now: getting tested. And in two weeks you'll know for sure." She looked at me for a moment, the way she probably looked at her own son when he was scared. "Everything will be okay." She patted my hand, and turned to leave.

Even though I felt relieved I'd finally be getting some answers, I also felt terribly guilty, like I had betrayed Roger in some way. I had to make it up to him—but how? Especially considering he wasn't even aware of any of this.

It came to me later, of course. I'd make a film—a documentary about people living with AIDS. Bring it home to suburbia. Show them the truth. And maybe, just maybe, promote more awareness. It wasn't much, but it was something I could do. And from that, "Today 4 U: Proof Positive" was born.

That night I crawled into bed and, finally alone, gave in to my ragged emotions. I cried softly for a good hour—for Roger, for April, for Collins, and for myself—before finally falling into a fitful sleep that wouldn't be cured for two more weeks by one more trip to Scarsdale.

"Hello disease…"

Mimi's voice brought me back to reality, and I watched her run away. Tears from the memory as well as from the current situation were in my eyes. I wanted to help her—to save her—but it was too late. She was gone.

It all goes back to Scarsdale. Scarsdale's why I had to get scientific proof that I didn't have AIDS, and Scarsdale's why I'll never be 100 New Yorker. Scarsdale's why I go home and instead of working on my film instantly to forget my pain, I instead look out the window into the city and worry for Roger, Mimi, Collins….and me.


End file.
